Crazy Taxi
by gloryblastit
Summary: Craig's dad didn't die in season 2, and he had to move back in with him. The reactions of all involved if Craig had ended up back at his dad's.
1. Chapter 1

Crazy Taxi, that's what the video game was called. Craig played it but he was really waiting for Joey to come home, almost praying waiting, and he felt that same nervous feeling he used to feel when…when…_when you lived with your dad_, the little voice in his head said. That little voice was right, of course. It was exactly how he felt when he had lived with his dad. The absence of that feeling was so good, so natural, that Craig hadn't really noticed it had gone. Until it came back.

Joey was staying late at the car lot, not unusual, but he had had plans that night. Stupid secret plans to meet his father for dinner and Joey was screwing it all up and then his dad might, well, he might get mad. Craig closed his eyes and let the taxi on the screen careen into a wall or another car or a pedestrian, he didn't really care what it did.

Angela crawled into his lap with her book and he smiled at her. She felt warm from the fever she had from the chicken pox and he couldn't remember if he'd ever had them or not. There was actually quite a bit he couldn't remember about his childhood, about last year even, and that wasn't childhood. It worried him sometimes, like being senile at 14.

The phone rang and Angela grabbed it, clicked it on and handed it to him. It was Joey and he wasn't going to be just a little late he was going to be real late and Craig sighed. He was screwed. Screwed. He felt that nervous feeling right in the pit of his stomach, twisting and making him edgy and he fidgeted in his seat. Angela gave him a look, even through her fever and aches and itches from the chicken pox she saw that something wasn't right with him.

"What's wrong?" she asked him in her little voice and he lied to her, like he used to lie to everyone.

"Nothing,"

He got her off to bed and stared at the clock and the hands were flying and still Joey wasn't back. He paced in front of the window, thinking every car he heard was Joey. _C'mon, Joey, c'mon_. Craig could hardly breathe as it got later and later. Every time he sat down he rocked back and forth and gnawed on his fingernails. That was another thing he had stopped doing. When he lived with his dad his nails were bit down to the quick.

Then it occurred to him. What was he really so nervous about? That his dad would be angry? Was that it? He had been angry when Craig left. It wasn't really the anger that had him worried but what his dad would do when he was angry. That had him worried. _Getting hit again._ That had him worried. Didn't being late usually result in getting hit? It had.

"This is stupid," Craig said softly. He was here in Joey's house where no harm would come to him and he wanted to go off and see his dad, be late and get hit? Was that honestly what he wanted to do?

"No," Craig said, his voice just above a whisper. He dialed his dad's cell phone number and listened to the rings. _Pick up, c'mon._

"Hello?"

"Dad? It's Craig,"

"Craig? Where are you? Is everything alright?" Craig heard sharp concern in his father's voice but also anger.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just, can we reschedule? Joey was supposed to come earlier but he's still not here and I have to watch Angela,"

A beat of silence and for a second Craig thought his father had hung up on him.

"Yeah, Craig, that's fine. How about tomorrow night?"

Craig let out his breath. His dad was mad but what could he do? That nervous feeling was leaving at last.

"Yeah. Tomorrow. Tomorrow's good,"


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, morning sun shining in bright through the windows, Craig came downstairs in jeans and a t-shirt, sliding on the wood floor with his socks.

"Morning," Joey said, and Angela raced by.

"Good morning," Craig said, and shuffled into the kitchen for some cereal. The phone rang and Joey answered it.

"Hello?" Craig could tell by the carefully blank look on Joey's face that it was his dad.

"Yeah, just a minute. Hold on," Joey handed him the phone.

"Craig, listen, I got called into work today…I can't make dinner tonight. How about sometime this week?"

"Yeah, sure, that's fine," Craig said, watching Joey watching him.

"Good. I'll call you sometime this week when I know for sure what day is good. Craig, I love you,"

"I love you , too, dad," he hung up the phone and went back to his cereal. Joey was still watching him.

"What was that about?" Joey said.

"Nothing,"

"Oh, really? It kind of sounded like you were talking about seeing him,"

"Well, I wasn't. Okay?"

"Okay,"

Later that day Joey stopped over at Snake's.

"Hey, Joey Jeremiah," Snake said, eating something with chopsticks that looked vaguely Japanese.

"Hi, Snake,"

"What's up?" Snake said, the food between the chopsticks dangling between the plate and his mouth.

"Not much. Well, it's Craig. I think he's planning on seeing his father, if he hasn't already,"

Snake was quiet for a minute, ate his bite of food, looked out the window.

"You don't want him to?"

"No, I don't. It's too soon, it's…it's dangerous,"

"Joey, it's been nine months, they've only spoken on the phone. Don't you think it might be time for Craig to see his father again?"

Joey looked down, his expression dark.

"Maybe," he said without conviction, "maybe,"

Sunday. Quiet night at home. Angela colored in a coloring book on the floor, the chicken pox spots slowly disappearing. Craig sat on the couch and watched T.V.

"Ang, time for bed," Joey said.

"Noooooo,"

"Yeah. C'mon. You're still sick. Go up and brush your teeth and I'll be up to tuck you in in a minute,"

"Okay," She came over and pecked him on the cheek, and then she went over to Craig and kissed his cheek. He smiled at her absently.

"Goodnight, kid," he said.

When she had gone upstairs and he heard the water running he broached the subject with Craig.

"Craig, I'm not going to be mad, but I want you to tell me the truth. Are you planning on seeing your dad?"

Craig looked down, he had that guilty deer in the headlights type look. He swallowed hard but didn't answer.

"Craig?" He was like Julia in this way. Kept things to himself. It was pulling teeth to get any information.

"Yeah, I was," he looked up at Joey suddenly and there was this challenge in his expression, like he was daring Joey to say anything, daring him to stop him.

"I thought so. Craig, I want to talk to Albert before you see him. I'm a little nervous about this idea, but it might be time you saw him. Just let me talk to him first. Alright?"

Craig was quiet for a moment, head down again. Then he looked back up at him and his expression was softer this time.

"Yeah, alright,"


	3. Chapter 3

Calling Albert. Joey paced. Craig was in bed, but probably not asleep. It was 10 p.m. There was no good time to call him. There was never a good time.

He dialed, it rang, this was worse than calling girls in junior high. Albert was, after all, Julia's ex. Albert hated him. Had hated him from the start. But that didn't matter. It didn't matter anymore. They had Craig in common now.

"Hello?"

"Albert, it's Joey,"

"Hello," His voice was strained, reserved.

"Albert, listen. I think it might be time Craig see you again, but I'm a little worried,"

"Joey, there's no need. I've got myself into anger management. I know I was wrong, I know I…things weren't good for Craig here. I know that. But I've changed,"

Joey took a deep breath, listened with an odd mixture of emotions. One the one hand it seemed possible, Craig's absence being enough to let Albert see a few things clearly and recognize the need for change. But Albert was slick, a diplomat, able to say what he needed to say to get what he wanted. Craig had a bit of this quality, too.

"I think, I don't want to rush into this, but he could spend a night or two at your house…see how it goes…"

"Great. That's great. I'm not on call this weekend. And Craig told you about dinner this week?"

"Yeah, of course. No, that's fine," Joey bit his lip. He knew Craig had been hiding something like this.

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Sunday. Morning sun falling in through the windows, Craig and Angela eating cereal at the table, Joey sipping coffee by the window. He hated to discuss the stuff about Albert in front of Angela for some reason, dreaded the inevitable question she would ask about why Craig had a different father. Then what would he say? 'Well, honey, Craig's father was married to your mommy first and they had Craig, then I stole her away from them,'

He watched Craig, head bent down, curls covering his forehead. Was he honestly going to let him stay with Albert this weekend? Albert, who had kicked Craig so hard in the ribs that two of them had been fractured? He'd seen it in Craig, the results of that abuse, especially when he first moved in here. The flinching away from sudden movements, the round scared eyes, the constant need to please him. The lies and the excuses Craig was constantly giving him for minor things.

Angela went upstairs, finally. Craig brought his bowl to the sink, filled it with water. Went back for Angela's dishes.

"Craig, I talked to your father,"

Craig looked up at him, waiting for him to go on.

"Look, I know you're going to have dinner with him this week, and uh, I said you could stay with him next weekend, if you want to," He didn't exactly look like he wanted to, and Joey doubted himself for a second. Maybe he had been right, it was too soon.

"You don't have to,"

"No, it's fine," It didn't really sound fine to Joey, and there was that dark expression on Craig's face, that look he got sometimes and he knew it meant he was thinking about Albert, or something Albert had done.

"Craig, this isn't going to be easy. You and your father, you have a complicated relationship-"

"Yeah, he beat me. That's complicated?" The anger, the bright challenge. Craig was an angry kid. He'd throw things in his room, stomp up the stairs, give him that defiant look sometimes, that look that seemed to say, 'go ahead, hit me,' He'd actually said it when he'd been yelling at him about taking his car from the lot. 'You're not my dad,' he'd said, 'why don't you really be like my dad? ' What would Albert have done over that little stunt with the car? Strap him? Throw him against a wall and kick him?

"Yeah, it is. Because you love him but you're angry with him and afraid of him…" This was going nowhere. Deep down he didn't want Craig to go.


	4. Chapter 4

Joey looked worried. It was Friday afternoon and Albert was on his way.

"It's not too late. You don't have to go if you don't want to,"

Craig smiled a strained smile that didn't touch his eyes.

"No, I do, I guess. Sort of," He took a deep breath, looked out the big living room window. Only parked cars and clear road looking a faded blue in the sun. It was ambivalence. That odd hot and cold emotion, making everything tepid and unrecognizable.

"You can call me for anything, for any reason," Joey looked out the window, too, seeing the parked cars shining in the sun. Craig looked so vulnerable, tall lanky boy with soft curls falling in his eyes, touching his shirt collar. 14 years old. What match was he for Albert? Joey knew about the locks on his bedroom door. He shook his head, hearing a car motor in the distance. Albert had some anger management classes, he hadn't seen Craig in months, it would be fine. Everything would be fine.

The sound of the car motor grew louder and Albert's fancy sport's car came into view. Craig blinked, looked to Joey with a sort of hopeless resignation that Joey nearly called the whole thing off.

Albert beeped the horn, and both Craig and Joey suspected he wouldn't come in. Craig picked up his bag, the same one he'd packed when he ran away.

"See ya, Joey," He was gone, out the door and out into the sun, and Albert smiled at Craig and they talked, but it was all silent movie action to Joey watching through the window.

He watched the empty street for awhile, the shadows growing longer, the parked cars losing their shine. He cracked open an early bottle of wine, a red Shiraz, and poured it into his oversized wine glass that Julia had got him for Christmas one year.

He sipped, watching the shadows grow long in the living room. He didn't turn on the T.V. or the lights, just let the gloom gather around him. Sipped his wine. Hoped Craig would be okay.

012345567890

His dad talked and he listened, and he was immediately in tune with his dad's mood again, the way he used to be. The breeze in the sport's convertible was kind of nice, but sometimes it made him feel like he couldn't breathe.

His dad was in a good mood, and that made Craig's mood better, the edgy nervous feeling he'd had at Joey's going away.

They left the Soho sort of falling apart townhouse section of town and headed into the upscale, manicured lawns and immaculate retaining walls section of town. Past each house rising two or three stories into the sky, and the sky was a dark blue now, orange toward the horizon. Craig was glad it was getting darker so he could relax a little and not have to worry about his expression.

"We're here," his dad said, pulling smoothly into the driveway.

"Need help with that?" Albert said as he pulled his bag from the car.

"No, I got it. Thanks,"

Inside, just as he remembered it. He'd only been here a few days ago studying science. It was just how he remembered it from before.

"I'm gonna bring my stuff up to my room, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I got us some videos. We can order some take-out,"

"Yeah," Craig went up the carpeted stairs, bag in his hand. His room at the top of the stairs. His dad replaced the door. The old one had gauges in it from where the golf club dug into it, and Caig could close his eyes and see that whole thing again, could see and hear it like reliving it.

"Craig, when I say open the door you open the door!" And the golf club crashed into it, smash, and he'd just thrown some stuff into his bag as fast as he could and the club crashed into the door again. The only way out was the window. If his dad got the door open he'd beat him with that golf club, so he threw the window open and went out…

Craig opened his eyes, dropped his bag to the floor, and ran his hand over the door where the locks had been on the old one.


	5. Chapter 5

The door felt smooth under his fingers, and he remembered putting the locks on the old door the day after a particularly bad beating. And he hadn't been crying. He was too angry to cry.

"Never again," he had said then through gritted teeth, screwing the locks into the door, feeling that odd inner throbbing of bruises on his legs and arms and stomach and chest. A colorful array, and he had stared into the mirror wondering who that bruised and battered boy was.

"Craig!" His father's loud voice, but there was no anger in it. Still, his heartbeat raced, and he leaned his head against the door, whispered, 'I can't do this,'

"Craig!"

"Yeah!"

"Come down here a second!"

Obediently Craig closed the door and went downstairs.

The videos were stacked on the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room. His dad stood in the kitchen, his tie loosened, black glasses sliding down the narrow bridge of his nose. He slid them back into place and smiled at Craig, that slightly manic predatory smile.

"Pizza or Chinese?" he said. Craig shrugged, not feeling hungry.

"Whichever,"

That fleeting look in his dad's eyes, a flash of anger. Craig saw it, he always saw it and knew nothing had changed. He sat at the dining room table, leaned his head on his palm and watched his dad order the food, watched carefully for the angry look to come back.

He had ordered pizza, and it was delivered in 45 minutes by a kid barely older than he was, a bored looking kid in a blue and yellow uniform, blond hair sticking out under the blue cap. His father spoke to him and paid him as he did with all such people, waiters and waitresses and salespeople, he acted like they didn't matter. The familiar embarrassment crept over him as his dad paid the kid and dismissed him. Joey didn't do that, didn't act like that. He'd talk to waiters and waitresses and delivery people, smiles and small talk. Joey didn't act like they were just servants or something. Craig swallowed, wishing suddenly that he hadn't come back.

The movies playing on the VCR, new releases Craig had never heard of. Half eaten pizza crusts in the box on the coffee table, and Craig tried to let go of some of his fear. It wasn't like before, both of them pretending nothing was wrong until the violence was there between them, charging the air. He took another bite of his pizza even though he was full and tried to concentrate on the movie.

His dad asking him easy questions, how was school and friends and Ashley, and Craig tried to give him answers that were more than one word.

But it was there. He'd flinch from Albert's sudden movements and if Albert noticed he'd look sad and disappointed and would cover it with nonchalance. Craig tried to stop doing it but he couldn't. He wasn't used to being here. He wasn't used to being around his father anymore, and every cell of his body remembered every punch and every kick and every lick of the belt.


	6. Chapter 6

Back in the old room. He didn't think he'd be back here. The window he'd gone out of, throwing his packed bag before him. Ready to go. 'I'm out of here, tonight,' he'd told Sean. Gave too much away, asking that transparent question about his parents hitting him. He'd wanted Sean to say yeah, his dad hit him, had hit him all the time and he'd had to leave. Couldn't take it anymore. Wanted it to be the same with someone because he'd felt so alone. Felt like it was just him getting the shit beat out of him all the time.

Back here and he had to admit his dad was behaving himself. Hadn't even raised his voice, not once. Maybe that anger management shit worked. Maybe.

He couldn't relax here. Always on edge. Too soon. It was too soon to be back here. It didn't matter about anger management and promises and his dad telling Joey not to worry. He fell asleep into uneasy dreams, the belt arcing through the air again. He'd never forget that sound. Hands up to ward off the blows, broken questions and pleas, no way to get through his dad's anger.

"Work's been really stressful," he had said the day he came to pick up his stuff, as though that was any excuse. Work was stressful? School was stressful, too, especially a new school. Life was stressful. So what? That gave him the right to, to…do whatever he wanted to?

Worst of all, in a way, was the way he couldn't remember all of it. He'd wake up sometimes with bruises, the dark purple of fingerprints on his arms, the dark purple on his ribs like a shadow and he didn't remember. Couldn't remember it. His dad fake cheerful, sorry underneath, giving him money or buying him something expensive like he always did after a beating and he didn't remember. The ache and the pain the only sign, so he knew it had happened.

And he'd thought, then, waking up hurt and mad and he knew he'd had the shit kicked out of him and he could sort of remember it in a way. In a weird, non-linear way. It was what happened when his eyes were squeezed shut. He'd thought he might be going crazy.

Awake again, this room worse because of the time he'd been away. At Joey's house, at first, he'd just sat there real calm, and it felt weird as the anxiety he'd had went away. It felt nice not having to watch Joey so closely, to have such tight control of his actions and reactions like he did with his father.

The carpeting on the stairs muffled sounds and Craig didn't hear his father come up. He tapped on the door and cracked it open.

"Craig? You awake, kiddo?" His voice soft, so if he was asleep he wouldn't wake him.

"Yeah,"

"Listen, I just wanted to tell you, I'm glad you're back. I've missed you. I love you. I, I just wanted you to know,"

"Yeah, uh, I love you, too, dad,"

He smiled at him then, his dad's tight sort of sad smile, and he closed the door. Craig heard the metal thing in the doorknob click, and he could see the shadows of the trees on the walls, could see the roof of the porch outside his window. His stomach felt kind of twisted. He didn't like being here. He liked it better at Joey's.


	7. Chapter 7

"How was it?" Joey said when he got back late Sunday night. Late. It was nearly 10 o'clock. Craig felt almost sore from being so tense all weekend, from trying to second guess his father again. But things had gone fine.

"Fine," Craig said, not looking at Joey, shrugging. He looked at the remains of the supper they'd had here, pizza boxes stacked on the counter, dishes piled up in the sink.

"Are you sure?" Joey said, not knowing how to phrase it. He was watching Craig's tense posture, his not making eye contact, his one word answers. He didn't completely trust Albert.

"Am I sure? Yeah, I'm sure. It was fine," Craig wouldn't even look at him and turned, went upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He slammed the door to his room. He didn't even know what he was so mad about. Maybe it was just nice to be able to get mad, to act how he wanted to without worrying about…things.

He sighed. It hadn't been fine. Not really.

Joey's urgent knock on the door didn't surprise him. He figured he'd be up pretty soon.

"Come in," Craig said, tired. Being at his dad's all weekend had made him tired.

Joey came in, looking a little sheepish, and worried. He stared at a few of the posters that were on the walls. Craig laid on top of the made bed, watching him.

"Craig, was everything okay there, really?"

"Yeah. He didn't beat me or anything," He said it sarcastic and mean. It surprised him how mean he was being to Joey. He blinked, almost feeling ashamed.

"He didn't hurt you, right?" Joey said, ignoring the sarcasm.

"No,"

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"Where were you all weekend?" Sean said when he got to school. They sat at one of the picnic tables outside, and Craig watched the stream of students arriving in cars and on buses, on skateboards and bikes.

"My dad's," he gazed across the yard when he said it but he could feel Sean's stare.

"What? Your dad's? Are you crazy? After what he did to you?"

He looked at Sean, annoyed at all the questions but sort of touched by his concern.

"Yeah, well, it's been almost the whole school year since I've even seen him-"

"So what?" Sean said, still looking at him like he might be crazy.

"So maybe he's changed-"

"People don't change. Especially parents, man. I mean, he beat you. That doesn't just change. He'll do it again. Like my parents. They're drunks. That ain't gonna change, you know? I could go back there a million times and they'd still be the same. I'd be careful if I were you,"

What Sean said worried him because he believed it. He'd kept thinking it would change the whole time he'd lived with his dad, the whole time until he left. That was when he finally realized that it wasn't getting better. That he couldn't be good enough. That he was getting hurt, and hurt worse. It was escalating. His father had been pounding on his door with that golf club and would have beat him with it if he'd been there. If he hadn't jumped out his window he would have beat him with a golf club. Now that he thought about it, safe at school, safe at Joey's, it was astounding. That wasn't being hit or slapped or even kicked. Strapped. His father could have killed him, could have landed him in the hospital. And he was still so fucked up from that, from all of that.

He had an opposite conversation with Ashley later in the day. He told her about going to his dad's, he sort of wanted her opinion.

"I think that's good, Craig. Maybe you can patch things up with him,"

"Maybe,"

"Was it okay?" she said, like Joey, but he didn't feel the same helpless anger at her that he had when Joey had asked.

"Yeah, I mean, nothing _happened_, it's just that, it was weird, being back there. I didn't really like it, I guess,"

"It'll take getting used to, but Craig, people can change,"

He nodded. Maybe. Maybe she was right.

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Joey was walking on eggshells around him. Craig couldn't help it but he'd been pissed at Joey ever since he got back from his dad's.

"Uh, Craig-"

"What?" Craig snapped, real anger in his voice and his eyes. Joey was taken aback. It was just after supper and the light outside was that funny late afternoon gold. Angie colored at the coffee table and looked up at Craig's angry tone.

"Craig, come on," Joey took his arm to lead him upstairs and felt the muscles tighten as he touched his arm. But he grabbed him anyway, seeing the fear come quick into his eyes and leave.

"Craig," he still held his arm but now his voice was soft, soothing, "just come upstairs,"

He let go of him and headed upstairs and was relieved when Craig followed him. He went into Craig's room and shut the door after Craig had come in.

"Alright, what's going on with you? You've been pissed off at me all week," Joey said, and Craig stared at him.

"Haven't you been?" Joey pushed, and Craig shrugged, mumbled, "guess so,"

"Why?" Joey said, sitting on the bed. Craig didn't sit, he leaned against the wall.

"I don't know-"

"I think you do," Joey interrupted, and Craig looked over at him, breathing hard, his eyes shiny with tears, and Joey felt a little out of his element, like he had that night in the cemetery.

"I don't. I don't know-"

"What happened at your dad's?"

"Nothing! Nothing, okay! Quit asking me!"

"Craig, look, I don't know what to do here," Joey spread his hands, palms up, "but something's wrong with you and I just want to figure out what. You've been fine for awhile and now…look, you went to your dad's and ever since you came back home you can't talk to me without looking like you want to bite my head off or something,"

Craig sucked in his breath and let out a shuddery sigh, slid down the wall and covered his face in his hands. Joey looked at him, trying to be patient, remembering that night in the cemetery, the light from the car headlights shining off the glossy headstones. He knew that place so well.

"You want to know what happened at my dad's?" Craig's head was down and he covered his eyes with his hands, "this is what happened. Everything he said and everything he did reminded me of when I lived with him, and I was trying to be careful around him again. And being at his house made me think of how I've forgotten a lot of what went on there, or I tried to anyway. But I guess I haven't really forgotten it in a way because I kept thinking he was gonna hit me, and I kept trying to be in control of everything I did, and it was like it _hurt_ to have to act that way again. But I couldn't get pissed at him. I learned a long time ago not to show him that I was pissed at him because that didn't go over so well. And he wants me back. What's going to stop him from getting me back, huh? Nothing. And then it'll be just like it was because he didn't change, what's a few anger management classes? Nothing, that's what. Those classes mean shit,"

He looked up at Joey, a few of the tears coursing down his cheeks. Joey nodded, swallowed hard, rubbed his hands together.

"Craig, look, I thought it was too soon for you to be seeing him again…maybe I was right. You're not going back with him, not yet. It was just a weekend visit, that's all. If you don't want to go again you don't have to. He'll understand, and even if he doesn't, well…"

"Yeah, well. I don't know if I can go back and live with him again. I just don't know if I can do it,"


	8. Chapter 8

Joey sat on the couch, both kids upstairs. Both kids. His kids. He frowned, thinking of the Albert problem. Craig wasn't exactly his, he knew. This was supposed to be a temporary situation, until Albert could get his shit together. That meant when Albert could manage not to beat Craig just because he came home late.

He was angry with Albert. Albert the scapegoat. Unreasoning man. He remembered when he had come to the car dealership, the arrogance that seemed to come from every gesture. The way he fixed his glasses on his nose, the way he adjusted his jacket, the way he touched his expensive car. The way he would not let Craig see Angela and there would be no discussion. Julia between them. Silent, faded, but still there. Still a wedge.

He hadn't known the extent of it then. Hadn't known that Craig was being abused on a fairly regular basis and that he was suicidal. Hadn't known that all his calls to Albert in an attempt to help had actually hurt Craig more than anything. Hadn't known the lack of control Albert had.

It was easy to scapegoat Albert. Villify. Was he being exactly fair? Joey reached for his glass of wine, thinking it over. Watched the play of the light on the smooth surface of the wine. Maybe he wasn't quite being fair. He couldn't keep Albert from Craig, despite the bruises he had seen in the days after Craig had come to live with him. The alarming purple bruises on his stomach and chest, just as Angela had described. The slow way he had moved, being in obvious pain. They'd gone away, faded to insignificance, but the dull look in Craig's eyes had taken much longer to fade. The tired fear he had seen in him had taken much longer to go. Even now there were flashes of it, if he raised his voice too loud, if he moved too quick, Craig would still flinch, still jump, still close his eyes and breath fast and shallow.

Joey took a small sip, the slightly bitter taste of the wine reminding him of other times he has had it, once with Julia on their anniversary. She had been so beautiful. Long curly hair, that smile. It was a lot like Craig's smile, actually. Her long graceful fingers entwined with his, and he'd sipped the wine with her and watched the play of light in her eyes, the shine on her hair, and he'd thought it was forever. He laughed, a short bitter laugh. What had he known?

Was he not giving Albert a chance because he had hurt Craig and Julia and he couldn't forgive him? Wouldn't let him change? Craig was his son after all. If he's honestly worked at the anger management and got himself under control doesn't he deserve to have Craig back?

Joey shook his head, listened to the silence of the house, the hum of the heaters, the clinking of pipes, creak of floorboards. Swallowed the last of his bitter anniversary wine. He didn't like the anger he's seen in Craig since his father burst back into his life. Didn't know if Craig was exactly dealing with this whole thing well. Didn't know if he should let him see Albert again. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, whispered, "Julia…I don't know what to do,"

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Craig was upstairs but not asleep. He was remembering.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

Cut off by being grabbed so fast, so roughly. His father's hands squeezing his wrists and it hurt, even twisting them he couldn't get away and then he shoved him against the wall. Punched him. So hard and he just wanted it to stop…

Craig opened his eyes in the darkness of his room at Joey's house. He didn't remember much more than that. Not what he had done. Not what had happened after. Just that flash of trying to say he was sorry and being grabbed and shoved, the way his dad looked at him with this twisted angry look. How he had hated him. How he had hated him in defense because it had seemed that his dad was the one who had hated him.

Craig remembered thinking, when he had lived with his dad, why'd he even bother to have a kid if this was how he was being treated? What was the point of it? And were things so different now? Had his dad really changed?

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Angela was reaching for a can of pop high on the shelf in Snake's refrigerator, and Snake walked by and grabbed it for her. Saturday. Joey stirred sugar into his coffee and watched Angela struggle with the pop top on her soda.

"Where is he now?" Snake said. Joey poured in some cream from the ceramic cow creamer Snake had. The cream poured out of the cow's mouth.

"He's, uh, at Sean's. I couldn't take another weekend of him being at Albert's,"

"He's gonna go back there," Snake said slowly.

"I guess, but it, it doesn't seem to be going very well. He's coming home so pissed off,"

Snake nodded, stirred sugar into his own coffee.

"Joey, have you ever thought that Craig maybe, hasn't really dealt with the whole thing?"

Joey shook his head.

"I thought he was fine, he seemed fine, until Albert came back,"

Snake gulped his coffee, looked to the side, his pale blue eyes bloodshot.

"Seeing Albert is probably stirring everything up. Joey, Craig's been through a lot. His mom's death, his father mistreating him, the train thing. Maybe he should see somebody to help him sort of…sort things out a little bit,"

"Like a shrink?" Joey said, and Snake had to smile, thinking of the scene in Rebel Without A Cause when Plato said to the cop, "you mean a head shrinka?"

"Yeah, like a shrink,"

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"No," Craig said. Joey had broached the subject of the shrink after Angela went to bed. Craig sat at the kitchen table while Joey rinsed the dishes.

"Craig, I think it might help. It could help you-"

"No. I'm fine. I don't need help,"

He was angry. Joey noticed the fierce set of his jaw, the hard look in his eyes, the clenched fists.

"You're not really fine, and since you've been seeing Albert again-"

"I'm fine, okay! I'm fine! Jesus, Joey, just leave me alone!"

Pounded up the stairs, slammed the door, woke up Angela. She came to the foot of the stairs, sleepy-eyed.

"What's wrong with Craig?" she asked in her little voice.

"Nothing, honey, he's, um, he's fine. Go back to bed," She turned to go back down the hall and Joey went up, tucked her in and got her a glass of water.

"Craig's mad, huh?" Angela said, setting her water on the nightstand.

"Yeah, honey, he is,"

"At you?" she said, and Joey closed his eyes.

"Sort of, but he's sort of mad at his dad, too,"

"Because he hurt him?" Angela said, her eyes darkening, thinking of the bruise she saw when his shirt lifted that day in the park. Thinking of how he had been in pain when she accidentally touched him there.

"Yeah,"


	9. Chapter 9

There were no choices at 14. Craig sat in the office of the therapist Joey had found for him, and he felt pissed off. He didn't want to talk to this guy, no matter how nice he sounded or how nice he was being, despite the games he was playing being all casual. Craig could see through those type of games.

"How are things going?" he said, and Craig noticed that he was going bald, that the sweater he wore matched his socks.

"Fine," he said.

"Things okay at school?"

"Yeah," Craig looked toward the window, wishing he was outside instead of in this little office in this overstuffed chair evading all these questions.

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He was home. Angela was at Emma's so that he could go to the therapist and Joey would pick her up after work. He was glad that he was at Joey's house alone. He needed to be alone. He hadn't liked the prying questions and the carefully blank look in the therapist guy's eyes. He hadn't liked thinking the guy already knew everything there was to know about him. What did he know? Did he know that his mother was dead? Did he know his father abused him? Probably. Everyone knew everything.

He turned the T.V. on and was thankful for the silence in the house, for the mindless T.V. shows that crawled across the screen. He put his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about anything for the moment.

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Joey and Angela burst into the living room, both talking a mile a minute. Craig glanced over at them, feeling overwhelmed by their presence.

"Craig!" Angie said, running over to him and hugging him. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head.

"Hi, kid," he said.

"Angie, honey, go put your stuff away and wash up for dinner," Joey said, shrugging out of his coat, heading for the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and cabinets, making a general racket. Craig turned up the T.V.

"How'd it go today?" Joey said, looking at Craig from the kitchen.

"Fine,"

"Just fine?" he said, and Craig looked over at him, feeling all the pent up rage just explode.

"Yeah, Joey, it was fine! What do you want me to say? We talked about how great it was that I got the shit kicked out of me every damn week for five fucking years, and now, thanks to a few _anger management_ classes I get to go right back there! Okay? So just leave me alone!"

Craig threw the remote across the room and it clattered against the wall, the batteries falling out of it as the plastic piece on the back fell off. He gave Joey one last withering stare and ran upstairs. Joey stared after him, his mouth open, stunned.

"I guess it didn't go that well," he said to the empty kitchen.


End file.
